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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218456">a warmth to share</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddingcatbeans/pseuds/puddingcatbeans'>puddingcatbeans</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Promare (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort Food, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, food as a love language</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:53:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddingcatbeans/pseuds/puddingcatbeans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Galo wouldn’t consider himself a cook by any means, but he does remember every trick Ignis taught him that one time he came over to check on a Galo with a broken leg.</p>
  <p>“Everyone needs a hobby outside of work,” Ignis told him. “It’s okay if that hobby is a glorified means to ensuring your own survival.”</p>
</blockquote><br/>four meals galo prepares for lio. (they say the way to someone's heart is through their stomach.)
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lio Fotia &amp; Galo Thymos, Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>283</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a warmth to share</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello everyone pls accept this humble offering of comfort (food) in these trying times<br/>this was written for the <a href="https://twitter.com/sparkofhopezine">spark of hope charity zine</a>!! </p><p>this film truly was just a shot of pure serotonin no matter how many times you watch it. what a treasure. i love that fandom latched onto the implication that galo&amp;lio might share a living space at least in the immediate future post-canon - and i also love writing about food, so i hope this will sit in your bellies like a warm, loving meal!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The living room looks like a tornado of paperwork exploded. Lio is sitting in the middle of it all, bangs clipped back from his face as he scratches away at a stack of printed forms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you sleep at all?” Galo asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio barely spares him a glance. He gestures to the rumpled blanket on the couch, then the near-empty coffee pot sitting next to him on the table. “I’m fine. Lots of work to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo nods even though Lio is busy scribbling. “Are you hungry?” he asks. He receives a distracted hum as a reply. Galo picks up the pot of cold coffee and takes the three steps across his apartment to the kitchen. The place is tiny, filled with too many mismatched knick-knacks that people had gifted him over the years. The classy throw pillows Remi brought the second time he came over, the growing collection of succulents Lucia keeps giving him, the records and books that Varys always forgets to take home, the random thank-you presents from people he rescued. Aina complains about the mess whenever she visits, but Galo thinks it’s cozy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts on another pot of coffee and then digs out the frying pan. He did a grocery run a few days ago, so he has more than bread and eggs to work with. Galo casts a glance over at the boy working diligently on his living room floor. He rolls his shoulders. Breakfast, he decides, will be served shortly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Making space on the counter, Galo cuts potatoes and peppers into tiny chunks. He dices the onions and whisks the eggs. Soon, the sound of oil sizzling on the pan and the irresistible smell of bacon fills the entire apartment. It’s a simple dish, quick and easy, warm in the belly. Galo wouldn’t consider himself a cook by any means, but he does remember every trick Ignis taught him that one time he came over to check on a Galo with a broken leg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone needs a hobby outside of work,” Ignis told him. “It’s okay if that hobby is a glorified means to ensuring your own survival.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Splitting the contents of the pan onto two mismatched plates, Galo picks his way back to the couch and plops them down in front of Lio. “Here,” he says. “Eat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo tugs the pen out of Lio’s hand and trades it for a fork. “Your paperwork can wait! You need to replenish your energy if you’re going to be working all day again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio frowns up at him. His eyes flick towards the steaming plate. Heaving a big sigh, Lio pushes aside the papers. He takes a bite. His eyes widen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo grins. “It’s good, yeah? It’s the bacon and the eggs, a good balance of grease and sweetness. And a good source of protein!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is really good.” Lio swallows, staring down at the plate. His fork hovers in the air. “I haven’t... Being on the run and all, it’s kind of. We just ate whatever we had, heated up over our flames. It’s been a while since I’ve had proper cooked food like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Galo doesn’t really know what to say to that. He looks down at his plate. “Ah!” he says, shooting to his feet. “I forgot the coffee! Dig in, dig in!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s busy balancing his plate in one hand, but Galo thinks he hears the quiet huff of a laugh coming from the couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>+</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Galo’s coming back from a toilet run when he catches sight of a familiar head of fluffy blond hair by the windows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you still doing up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio jumps. He blinks at him, eyes glowing in the dark. “Sorry,” he says. “Did I wake you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no! Just taking care of downstairs business, y’know.” Galo leans over the back of the couch. “What’s up? Can’t sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio shrugs. He turns to stare blankly out the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo rubs at the back of his neck. Lio takes everything seriously, it’s why he’s such a great leader, getting stuff done all the time. Galo is the complete opposite. Aina’s always saying he doesn’t have a single tactful bone in his body, though she never says it in a mean way. But the one thing Galo knows is not to give up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he says. “Are you hungry? Sometimes when I can’t sleep, it turns out it’s just my stomach throwing a tantrum.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on.” Galo offers a smile. “Let me make you something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio hops onto the counter as Galo pulls things out of the cupboards. He puts a pot of water to boil, and then turns to rip open the noodle packages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Instant noodles?” Lio says dubiously. “That’s your fix-it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you tried it!” Galo shuffles around Lio’s legs to the fridge. “Do you mind cabbage? Ham?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo asks Lio about how the ex-Burnish rehabilitation is going while he waits for the noodles to cook. Lio’s voice is quiet in the softness of the kitchen lights. His hair is a golden halo. Even with bruises under his eyes, Lio looks like he’s glowing when he talks about the people he’s helping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pouring the finished soup noodles into two bowls, Galo places the ham slices on top and tosses on some chopped green onions. “Wait for it,” Galo says. He cracks an egg for each bowl, and they both watch as the eggs cook in the hot water. Slapping a pair of chopsticks in front of Lio, Galo waves his hands in a flourish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ta-da! The Galo Thymos Midnight Noodles Special!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds lame,” Lio says, but he’s tugging the bowl closer to him. He inhales deeply, eyes slipping shut. “It smells good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo beams. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>+</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The chicken broth is just starting to boil when Lio appears in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. He’s wearing one of Galo’s worn hoodies, his cheeks still slightly flushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, you’re up,” Galo says. “How’s your fever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Went down,” Lio mumbles. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Making you lunch!” Turning down the heat, Galo uncovers the other pot. He scoops some porridge into a bowl and slides it across the counter. He’s already prepared a plate of seaweed paste, bamboo shoots, and pork floss. A box of natto is also waiting on the counter. “Do you want some eggs? I can fry it or scramble it, unless you want it hard boiled?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fried is fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo hums to himself while Lio climbs up onto the bar stool. His chopsticks clink against the bowl as he mixes the natto into the stewed rice. The chicken soup is still boiling gently, its sweet aroma filling the apartment. It’s quiet. Comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you go.” Galo scoops the egg into Lio’s bowl. “Your throat okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.” Lio pokes at the egg until the yolk spills onto the porridge. “You know, you don’t have to do all this for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about? You’re sick!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to do everything alone, Lio.” Galo puts the frying pan into the sink. He checks on the soup. It’s a nice golden colour. “I know you’re used to doing everything by yourself and I admire how tough you are because of that, but—You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to act like you’re fine when you’re not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo shuts off the stove. He fills a new bowl with chicken broth and sets it down in front of Lio. The other boy looks from the soup to Galo’s face. A furrow appears in between his brows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Lio says slowly, “I haven’t been sick in a long time. The promare used to just burn the sickness out before it can enter our immune system. I guess this is something else I have to get used to, huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo tilts his head. “Well, I don’t usually get sick. So don’t worry, Lio, I’ll be right here to take care of you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio stares at him. He looks away, muttering, “I guess it’s true idiots don’t get sick.” He picks up the soup and takes a sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s it taste?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio licks his lips. He meets Galo’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s delicious.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>+</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why did you drag me out here?” Lio complains. He’s sitting cross-legged in the shopping cart, hood up and pouting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This way you can choose what kind of foods you like,” Galo explains. “Whatever you want! I’ll cook it for you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re making me sound like a brat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio smacks him with a cereal box. “If you keep spoiling me, everyone will talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re talking anyway.” Galo picks up a few blocks of tofu and squints at the packaging. “If you care so much, why don’t you help me make dinner tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want to eat? We have some meat at home that we should probably use, but you can choose the vegetables. Do you want noodles? Or rice? Or maybe you’re feeling like hotpot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio’s hands clench around the metal bars of the cart. His face is turned away as he mumbles, “I don’t know how to cook.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like we had many opportunities,” Lio continues, “when we were on the run. We made do with whatever we could scavenge on short notice and rationed it. Whether it tasted good didn’t matter when there were starving children to think about.” He looks really small, scrunched up in that cart. His bangs hiding his face, fingers fiddling with the strings of the hoodie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo leans on the handle of the cart. “You know, it’s never too late to learn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With me.” Galo grins at Lio. “Everything’s better together, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio pulls the hood over his head. “Eggs,” he says. “I want to eat eggs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let’s get some!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fried rice turns out to be a little burnt and the egg a little too lumpy, lopsided where it slips off the rice. But Galo plates them both diligently, and steam rises from the dishes enticingly. Lio is bent over the plates with a ketchup bottle, tongue sticking out as he concentrates. He protested when Galo first handed him the bottle, but now he’s determined to create a masterpiece and refuses to let Galo see it until he’s finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you done now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you done </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shush. You’re distracting me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo hums. He soaks the pan in water and goes to set the table. Only when he takes a seat at the barstool by the kitchen island counter does Lio put the bottle down. Galo claps his hands as Lio carries the plates over. He leans forwards eagerly to see Lio’s finished works. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no! Lio, I can’t eat this, it’s a flame!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a firefighter, Lio! This goes against all my morals!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio rolls his eyes. “Aren’t you always saying you have a burning soul? Just think of it as feeding your inner fire or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, that’s so poetic! Oh, let’s take a picture and send it to the groupchat, I bet Lucia would wanna see your artistic skills—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just eat it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lio raises a spoon to stab Galo’s egg canvas. The next few seconds dissolve into a complicated dance as they fight over the plates, Lio jabbing forwards and Galo attempting to shield the ketchup drawings from an early demise. Galo manages to snap at least one coherent picture, pressing send just as Lio leaps onto his back to snatch at the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re ridiculous,” Lio huffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all too easy to lift Lio from Galo’s back and drop him into the other stool. Lio’s hair is frizzy from their scuffle. He looks like a ruffled cat. Galo laughs. “Let’s eat before they go cold!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their plates are half-finished when Lio nudges Galo in the side. “Galo,” he says. “Next time, let’s make pizza.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galo meets Lio’s eyes. That familiar gaze is as steady as ever. When he smiles, Lio’s lips turn up, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the world might be on fire, literally and metaphorically, but at least we have each other. thanks for being kind!! remember to take care of yourself, too &lt;3</p><p>i'm on twitter&amp;tumblr as @puddingcatbae!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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